


Willy-Nilly Porno

by vipjuly



Series: Willy-Nilly [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Castiel Watches Porn, Castiel's Handprint, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Top Castiel, evolving cockslut dean, semi public sex really, slight BDSM themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:43:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean's car stalls on the side of the road for no damn reason.Castiel comes to help.Castiel... doesn't help.Isn't this the beginning of a porno?





	Willy-Nilly Porno

**Author's Note:**

> still getting the hang of tagging.  
> first supernatural smut! i took an amalgamation of all my fave imaginings of dean and castiel and came up with what i think is my best depiction of what i imagine their dynamic to be like.  
> this is unedited and un-betaed, any errors will get fixed at a later date.  
> you don't need to read the [prequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13470939) but it helps shed a little light :)

It’s hot.

Dean hates being hot.

He hates fixing his car in unbearable heat without shelter, or at the very least, a fan blowing directly at him.

Why the hell did his car even break down in the first place? On the side of the highway somewhere between Columbus and Norfolk (because taking the main roads isn’t always the best idea) on his way up to Sioux Falls Dean feels hot, frustrated, and confused. He doesn’t like this combination at all. Especially since he opened up the hood of his Baby and saw that - virtually - nothing is wrong. His grey v-neck is soaked pretty much everywhere it’s touching his flushed skin, his jeans feel three times heavier than normal, and it’s disgusting that the sudden wish for flip-flops crosses his brain. How desperate _is_ he? 

Cussing and throwing his wrench down on the asphalt, he shakes his hands so he can fight the urge to kick his poor innocent Baby. It’s not her fault she stalled. Well- ok, it totally is her fault, but Dean can’t figure out _why_ she stalled and he loves her too much to get angry at her. He’s just pissed because it’s hot. That’s all. And maybe he’s too hot to think properly. He paces a little, grabbing at the center of his shirt and pulling it away from his sticky skin, trying to fan himself with it. The material is too wet, though, so it just slaps against his stomach uncomfortably and he huffs, kicking at a rock. It’s so hot that the air is doing that weird thing where it makes surfaces look wet when they’re actually dry, and Dean suddenly becomes acutely aware of how badly he wants an ice cold beer. The road is long and oddly deserted, heat waves distorting the length of it as Dean squints into the distance.

“Jesus, so help me…” A flutter of wings and Dean turns around with more gusto than he thought imaginable at this moment in time, throwing his hands up in the air, a charming smile blossoming on his lips. “Even better. Caaaaaaas, how _are_ you doing?”

Castiel is standing rigid as usual, hands at his side, feet shoulder-width apart. His brow is furrowed, eyes squinting to try and shield themselves from the blinding (hot) sun, and honestly, his face looks like every other time Dean has seen him: Consternated. “It is hot,” the angel says in lieu of greeting, voice gruff and annoyed. Which, it is, but Castiel is all buttoned up to the chin with his trench coat, so it must be especially murderous for him. Do angels get hot?

“It sure is buddy,” Dean starts walking towards Castiel. “I’m pretty sure the old gal is throwing a fit in the heat. Can you help me start her up again?”

Castiel’s eyes squint even further. “I am not a mechanic, Dean.”

Dean blinks a few times, his smile twitching at the corners. “Right- but you _do_ have a magic touch, so if you could just, you know, _magic touch_ my car into working so I can finish the rest of my drive, that would be wonderful.”

“Are you unable to solve the problem yourself?” Castiel asks, glancing towards the car.

Huffing, and thinking he should have known better than to ask Castiel for help because it would likely turn into an ordeal, Dean turns back to look at his car. She’s sleek and black and absorbing all of the heat beating down on her from the sun and Dean knows that even if he gets her fixed, the drive is going to be insufferable. Air conditioner already isn’t an option in such an old beast. He’s having so many regrets right now. Including driving off of the main road. He can’t recall the last time he’d regretted _that_ choice.

“No,” Dean finally answers. “I popped her open but she looks totally fine. Nothing is out of the ordinary. All the fluids are topped off, valves shut, caps screwed on, nothing clattering around. She just… stopped. If I didn’t know any better I would say some higher power was at work just to fuck with me. Or- lower power I guess, too.” Demons are always the most feasible option.

Castiel stays silent. Which isn’t totally abnormal, considering he always seems to quietly contemplate whatever situation he flutters into, but Dean still turns around to look at him - and is surprised to see Castiel looking at Dean himself, and not his car.

“Your suspicions are correct,” Castiel says, words measured as he levels his gaze with Dean’s.

Dean lofts a brow. “Someone screwed with my car for funsies?”

“I don’t think ‘funsies’ was the intended result,” Castiel says. Then, “depending on the context.”

Dean squints. “Why the hell else would someone make my car stall on the side of the road? Seems like all sorts of twisted creeps would find it hilarious.”

“Do you think I am a twisted creep?” Castiel raises an eyebrow.

Dean tilts his head, “Sorry?”

“Do you think I am a twisted creep?”

“Are you implying that _you_ stalled my car in the middle of nowhere, in the blistering heat, making me get all sweaty and uncomfortable for no damn reason?” Dean’s voice grows agitated the more he talks, and he feels like his pulse is thumping faster and faster. Definitely not helping how hot he is.

“Yes,” Castiel says plainly.

“ _Cas_ -” Dean growls, pointing a finger at the angle. “Fix it _right_ now, or else you’re getting a nose-full of my sweaty armpit!” It’s the best threat he has right now. He feels like he’s going to faint from heat stroke at any second.

“Dean,” Castiel starts walking towards the hunter. “That is not a good threat.”

Dean’s face screws up in confusion. “You an armpit connoisseur now Cas?”

“I read that when humans find a suitable mate, the odor of their partner attracts them rather than repels them. An instinct to be with someone who has a stronger immune system than their own.” Castiel pauses a step away from Dean, blue eyes still fixed on the hunter’s. “Your sweaty armpit is unlikely to put me off course.”

“Off course-?” Dean squints, and then points a finger at the swelteringly hot asphalt, demanding an answer. “Cas, why did you stall my car in the middle of B.F.E?”

“Privacy,” Castiel replies simply.

Dean gawks, and then looks around. There’s not even a breeze out here, a few trees peppering the landscape, and Dean returns his gaze to Castiel, deadpan. “Next time you wanna get me alone teleport us to the freaking moon where my skin won’t be melting off of my damn bones.”

“There is no oxygen on the moon, Dean, you would die,” Castiel says with a frown.

Spreading his arms out and flexing his fingers, Dean takes a few steps away from Castiel to gather his sanity - or at least what’s left of it. He’s still hot, still uncomfortable, and Castiel is being too damn dumb about why he stalled Dean’s car. Turning around, Dean lifts a finger. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, Cas, before I punch you in your freaking face. Why did you stall my car?”

“In the movie,” Castiel starts explaining, “when the woman’s car stalls on the side of the road, a helpful trucker stops to assist. Then they fall in love.”

“What movie…” Dean trails off, frowning, thinking to himself. A light bulb flickers on and then he laughs, incredulous. “Cas, did you watch a porn with that set up?”

“It was enthralling,” Castiel says, even though his expression doesn’t change much.

“And,” Dean is still putting the pieces together, “you… have done this so we can re-enact it together.”

Castiel casually puts a hand on the top of Dean’s car, leaning against it, his other hand on his hip as he glares at Dean, “Looks like you’re in trouble, little miss.” It’s a good thing Castiel is an angel, or else the palm of his hand would be blistering with the heat emanating from the frame of the car.

“Are you- are you trying to _smolder_?” Dean snorts.

Castiel’s glare intensifies. “Yes.”

“Close enough, I guess,” Dean shrugs, and then moves towards the hood of his car, deciding to play along. It hasn’t been long since that frustrating night Castiel tricked Dean into confessing his feelings, and Dean had been wondering when the other shoe would fall. He had always had a suspicion that Castiel had harbored more feelings for him than he let on; beyond raising him from perdition and being unfalteringly loyal. Well- ok he had faulted a few times but he’s here now and that’s what counts. But staring Castiel in those dark, deep blues, unwavering in their appreciation of Dean’s sweaty body has Dean getting goosebumps despite the heat. Castiel’s silent confession a few weeks ago had only festered deep within Dean’s conscience, prickling at him at every opportunity, and now those feelings are back in full force - coupled with a bit of an edge - as Dean leans his hip against the hood of his car and folds his arms over his chest, biceps and pectorals on display as Castiel continues his advance. “Gonna help me, big boy?”

“That is my intention, yes,” Castiel says, finally close enough to Dean that the hunter could probably count his eyelashes. It doesn’t bother Dean that Castiel still has no cognizant idea of personal space, not anymore, and Castiel’s intense stare starts to heat Dean up on the inside, the longer it trails over the man’s features.

“Uh,” Dean shifts a little under the magnitude of Castiel’s gaze. He’s already so damn hot and had been borderline cranky enough that changing gears like this is tripping up his system. He’s too old to be ruled by his hormones, damn it.

Suddenly, a smirk starts to unfurl on Castiel’s lips. Unlike his soft, fond smiles, this stretch of skin shows the angel’s canines, the pearly white of them glistening under the scorching sun, and Dean feels his adam’s apple bob, his throat suddenly going dryer than before, but now for an entirely different reason. It’s like Castiel knows exactly what effect he’s having on Dean, rupturing the usually cool facade that he hides under, and it’s like Castiel _enjoys_ it.

“Hell,” is all Dean can say, before Castiel is crowding him up against the car, mouth hot on his.

Now, in all honesty, Dean had imagined their first… er, _romantic_ encounter, to go a little different. Nothing too sappy - he is a Winchester, after all - but maybe after a hunt, or like, you know, Dean comes out of the shower, dripping wet and all relaxed and Castiel is there waiting for him by the memory foam mattress…

This encounter is off the charts, and nothing to complain about. Dean grabs the lapel of Castiel’s trench coat and hogs him closer, mouth yielding under the angel’s, tongues exploring and teeth scraping and Jesus, Castiel just _had_ to do this in the middle of nowhere on a hot day, didn’t he? Dean’s complaints get swallowed by Castiel’s probing tongue, get derailed by his wandering hands, and woah. Dean has never thought Castiel a meek being, despite the hunched posture of his vessel, but now at the angel’s mercy Dean feels all of that power radiating from fingertips to toes, feels the electric energy sparking between them. The few times Dean has seen Castiel glowing at full power he can count on one hand, but just like those times, right now he is left in weak-kneed awe, unable to do anything but let Castiel have his way.

“Cas,” Dean breathes out, and oh, he didn’t know his voice could pitch like that. Castiel has his hands on Dean’s hips, keeping him pinned against the car as his mouth moves from Dean’s kiss-swollen lips to leave white hot sparks along the flesh of the hunter’s jaw, teeth nipping, tongue soothing, hurried and yet somehow managing to take his time all at once. Dean feels dizzy for a new reason.

“Unbutton my coat,” Castiel growls, _growls_ against the flesh of Dean’s perspiring neck and if Castiel hadn’t been so adamant about Dean’s… scent, Dean would be self-conscious as to just how freaking sweaty he is at this exact moment. As it is, the command sends a jolt through Dean’s nervous system and he finds himself complying before he even fully processes the words, thumbs clumsily trying to pull buttons through slits. Fingers trembling, vision swimming from the heat and his newfound arousal, Dean’s eyes finally take in why Castiel had his trench coat buttoned up all of the way.

He’s not wearing anything underneath.

Dean’s knees go weak again and if it weren’t for Castiel keeping him pinned against the car, he’d be on the pavement. Groaning, low and gutteral, Dean pushes the material off of Castiel’s shoulders, letting it fall to the road as his palms slide over the expanse of the angel’s chest. Castiel’s skin temperature is cool, contrasting with the oppressive heat surrounding them, and Dean lets out an impressed huff. Of course Castiel would be able to regulate the temperature of his vessel to prevent himself from combusting.

“Pervert,” Dean manages to say, in response to Castiel wearing nothing beneath his trench coat.

Castiel merely smirks again, and his expression alone has Dean’s cock hardening in his jeans, trapped in the heated confines of the stifling denim. It’s quiet on the road, not even a hum of power lines, the only sound barraging Dean’s ears being the steady, even breaths Castiel is drawing in through his nose and letting out of his mouth as he continues to bite and lick his way along Dean’s neck. Arching, Dean reaches down to wrap his fingers around Castiel’s dick - only for his hand to get slapped away and then pinned behind his back, Castiel straightening a little so he can level Dean with his intense stare.

“We move at my pace.”

Dean has the balls to offer a charming smile, “Then get on with it.”

Suddenly Castiel is pulling Dean away from the car, hands tugging Dean’s sweaty shirt up over his head as he turns the hunter around. With expertise Dean will surely question later, Castiel keeps Dean’s arms bound behind his back with the material of his sweaty shirt; Castiel puts a hand on the top of the Impala before pinning Dean against it, Dean bracing for the scalding hot impact of metal on skin.

The pain doesn’t come.

Castiel’s touch has cooled down the car infinitesimally and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. The sigh gets caught in his throat, however, when Castiel kicks Dean’s feet apart, one hand on the center of his back, the other reaching around to start undoing the fastenings of Dean’s jeans. 

“Little rough for the first date, huh?” Dean quips, even though his heart is ready to hammer out of his chest. Castiel is handling him with methodical precision, the perfect amount of rough and controlling, and Dean never in his wildest dreams thought things would end up like this.

“I don’t hear any complaints,” Castiel breathes out right against the shell of Dean’s ear, tongue licking a stripe up the cartilage.

“Fuck no,” Dean whispers in reply. With his arms trapped behind his back he can’t brace himself properly against the car, or even find the leverage to push back against Castiel, but in the end he’s ok with the control the angel has over him. Castiel gets his pants and boxers down to his knees and suddenly the cool presence of the angel’s body behind him is gone - replaced by hands spreading Dean’s cheeks wide, cool air passing over his clenching rim. “ _Cas_ -”

The contrast is dizzying. The sizzling heat surrounding them and the sensation of Castiel’s temperature-controlled body touching him makes Dean feel like he might pass out before they get to the good stuff. He rests his cheek on the top of the car, watching his breath fog up the cool metal, his body a livewire as Castiel makes the first pass of his tongue against Dean’s hole. The muscle flutters and twitches and Dean flexes his fingers, knowing he could easily get out of the tangled mess of his shirt, but choosing to be wise and leaving himself bound, completely at Castiel’s mercy. The mental image of Castiel kneeling behind him, face buried in his ass while his hands keep Dean steady and upright has Dean moaning obscenely, eyes squeezing shut as sweat beads across his forehead and starts dripping down.

Castiel eats Dean like he’s starving and for all Dean knows, he is. In the time since the coerced confession the tension between them has been thicker than normal - Dean would be an idiot to not have noticed it. This is the culmination of stolen glances and tepid conversation, and Dean is honestly surprised that Castiel’s resolve snapped first. It’s beyond exhilarating, knowing the effect he has on the angel, and right here, right now, pinned up against Baby with Castiel tongue-deep in his ass, Dean is happy to let his mind explode into the vast nothingness of pleasure. He’s never felt so wanton and slutty in his life, so exposed and controlled and the control freak in him is surprisingly happy to ride co-pilot to Castiel’s ministrations. It’s… freeing.

Castiel pulls away with a slick sound, and Dean forces his neck to crane so he can catch sight of the angel licking his lips.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, swallowing thickly.

“That’s the idea,” Castiel says plainly, though the heat in his voice pulses through Dean’s body with a low thrum.

“Do you-” Dean pants out, resting his cheek on the cool metal of his car. He flexes his fingers again, mostly just to try and grasp at the words that are escaping his brain, but he finds that they’re lost to his cloudy mind.

“Of course,” Castiel replies, and there’s the click of a cap resonating through Dean’s skull, preceding the cold slick that drips down his crack without warning. Dean hisses and Castiel’s other hand is on his hip, searing new heat into the flesh to contrast against the coolness he’s been feeling, a finger swiping over Dean’s hole testingly. 

Dean nearly slams his face on the car, the little stimulation already doing wonders. It’s been a long, _long_ time since he’s entertained this side of his sexuality and he’s a little ashamed to have forgotten just how good it can be. Castiel’s finger is almost impersonal, the way it massages over his pucker before pushing in slightly, only to retreat and keep massaging. It keeps from being too impersonal when Castiel starts laying kisses over Dean’s shoulders, the muscles strained and flexed with his arms bound, and Dean almost has the gumption to relax… until Castiel bites over his handprint.

“Fuck-” Dean wheezes out, tremors wracking through his body and jolting his dick back to life. He hasn’t really given the handprint much thought since The Night Castiel had used it to calm him down; he didn’t think that there could be any other effects. The handprint must be some sort of physical bond between himself and Castiel, able to channel things on a one-way livewire. It’s nearly an unfair advantage, but as Castiel’s teeth scrape over the raised flesh, Dean’s cock weeps precome and his eyes tear up a little as well. Unfair advantage it might be, but Dean is willing to eat it up.

Castiel virtually makes out with the mark as a finger slides into Dean’s hole. Overcome with sensations prickling all over his body, Dean can only pant against the metal of his car, eyes losing focus and closing only to snap open when arousal zings through him. Castiel is working him over diligently and professionally and even though Dean is basically trapped, arms bound, pants around his knees, he has the vague notion that this is how he always wants to be, for Castiel. Bound, and at the angel’s mercy. This revelation comes as a mild shock but Castiel has two fingers scissoring Dean open and the man can’t really linger on his midlife crisis for long, the angel making it impossible for him to focus on any thoughts other than _more more more_. And it’s not like he really needs to mentally acknowledge the fact that his is exactly where he’d like to be; Castiel is devouring him and Dean suddenly feels like everything is right in the world.

“Cas, please-” Dean huffs out, his voice raw.

He can feel Castiel’s smirk against his handprint, the angel whuffing out a breath as he pulls away. The sun is still hot, still ferocious as it beats down on Dean’s skin, and he’s lightheaded with the onslaught of warm air and cool touches. Castiel’s lips are at the shell of his ear, tongue sliding down towards Dean’s jaw as he replies, “You’re not ready.”

“The fuck I’m not,” Dean growls, turning his head so his nose bumps against the stubble on Castiel’s cheek. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Cas, fu-”

A hand on the center of Dean’s back forces him forward into the car with great force, knocking the wind out of his lungs and words from his mouth. Castiel’s voice has an edge to it Dean has never heard before, the pitch low and resonating in every fiber of Dean’s being.

“You will take my cock when _I_ want you to.”

Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Dean can’t even reply verbally, a huffy “blerhkay” leaving his lips as he nearly fuses with the car. He’s so amped up, wired off of Castiel’s touches and commands. He’d had an idea Castiel would be a powerful partner, but this is blowing his mind in every way Dean had hoped. He feels more cock hungry than he’s ever been in his life, and the fact that Castiel is restricting said cock - well, that tickles Dean’s fancy mighty nice.

Dean wants to continue to beg, wants to keep goading Castiel until he gets what he wants, but part of him knows that Castiel will get where he wants to be in due time. His fingers resume their probing, stretching and bending, and Dean feels a few tears mix with sweat as he pants against the car. The push and pull of Castiel’s calloused fingers feels good, but it’s not quite at _that_ spot that Dean impatiently wriggles his hips for - Castiel pulls his fingers free and Dean is left feeling empty, his cockhead brushing against Baby’s door and smearing a trail across the black paint.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Dean: Patience is a virtue.”

Dean lets out a sob. He’s so turned on he can’t even blink without feeling the sensation of his eyelashes against his cheeks, his fingers ready to rip the fabric of his bunched up shirt.

Apparently it’s pitiful, because Castiel grants Dean a reprieve. Dean can feel Castiel’s firm, solid body looming behind him; the body once borrowed, and now permanently commandeered. It’s hard to imagine Castiel as anyone else, hard to imagine Castiel with brown eyes instead of blue, maybe red hair instead of brown, clean shaven versus the perpetual 5 o’clock shadow. This vessel _is_ Castiel. And with his solidity behind him, Dean can’t think of him as anyone, or anything else. 

Castiel’s cock slots between Dean’s ass cheeks, the slick from lube feeling almost sticky, and Castiel keeps a hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, the other hand curling fingers around one of Dean’s hip bones to keep him steady. Dean is totally at Castiel’s mercy, physically and spiritually, and he _whines_ at the anticipation.

Dean Winchester doesn’t fucking whine.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is deep as it rumbles against Dean’s shoulder, stubble scritch-scritching Dean’s flushed skin as he talks, “I want you to have my cock, now.”

“Plea-!” Dean’s words get cut off by a howl of pleasure as Castiel seats himself in one fell swoop. Dean feels Castiel’s balls slap against his thighs, feels his hips against his ass, feels Castiel’s monstrous cock splitting him in half and it’s a good thing Castiel has Dean pinned, or else the hunter would have surely just fallen face-first into the pavement without any muscle strength to keep himself upright, and quite honestly, Dean has embarrassed himself enough in the past ten minutes.

The pace Castiel sets up is brutal. There’s no tender lovemaking, there’s no revered touches and caresses; Castiel _fucks_ Dean against his car, skin slapping on skin, Dean bound and trapped between the harsh edges of his car frame and Castiel’s body, which has only a little more give to it. Dean’s breath is forced from his lungs with every forward thrust, and he’s barely able to take any air back in, leaving him dizzy and head-rushed. Castiel’s hips angle and Dean sees stars midday, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his cries quickly lose their pitch, hollow noises leaving his throat instead. And this is exactly as it should be - Castiel, the angel of Thursday, never _eases_ in to things.

And Dean never looks for the easy way, either.

Two peas in a pod, or some shit like that.

Dean can’t focus on anything other than Castiel’s presence - focus on it in a way he never really has, before. Castiel has always been all-encompassing; when he floats into a room all eyes are always on him, and Dean is always hyper-aware of the distance between them. But here, like this, where millimeters turn to micrometers and Dean is unsure of where Castiel ends and his own body begins, Dean feels awed in an entirely new manner. He’s still lightheaded, his voice is still absent, his chest getting sore from where its ramming repeatedly into the curvature of the roof of Baby. He’s on his tiptoes where Castiel has him propped at _just_ the right angle and one of Dean’s heels falls flat and-

“ _Fuck_ , Cas-!”

Pleasure explodes from the inside out and Dean’s vision whites at the edges, mouth open in a silent scream. Castiel’s pace doesn’t slow at all; he’s precise, measured, and now that he knows where exactly to hit Dean he’s abusing his power. Dean has no complaints. Even as tacky as the scenario had started, it’s all been wiped from conscious thought as he falls into _Cas Cas Cas_ and the way he’s bringing Dean closer to the edge.

“Nh, ah... “ Dean licks his dry lips, swallowing thickly and trying to wet his throat enough to talk, “I… plea… touch me…”

Castiel wastes no time in granting Dean’s slurred wish. He moves the hand on Dean’s hip around his body and grips his cock with little finesse, stroking it off-tempo from his thrusts. But it’s just right, it’s all friction and squeezing and Dean can’t even rock his hips into it without feeling like he’s going to crumble so he just lets Castiel take take take everything he can. Castiel is almost robotic with the rhythm of his thrusts and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his climax spiraling through his body, pure white light chasing an outlet as he gets closer with each perfectly measured thrust against his prostate.

“Come,” Castiel commands, his rough voice echoing in Dean’s so much it leaves him with whiplash.

Dean has never came on command before. He’s more into the build, even edging until he finally tips over - but he spills at the proverbial snap of Castiel’s fingers and he shouts loud, voice swallowed up by the dry summer air, the force of his orgasm surprising him into soft sobs. Behind him Castiel is suddenly pulling his cock free from the confines of Dean’s worked hole, and there’s a slick sound before Dean feels the heat of Castiel’s release spilling over his skin, sweat and lube mixing with everything and dripping slowly down the insides of his thighs.

Disgusting.

Amazing.

“Awesome,” Dean breathes out, now totally resting his weight against Baby as he tries to gather his breath.

There’s some shuffling behind him and then suddenly Dean’s skin feels dry and clean, and Castiel’s sure, strong hands are pulling his pants back up to his hips, fastening them. Fingers untangle the wrinkled mess of fabric that has become of Dean’s shirt, and Castiel helps him get that over his head as well. It’s awful. Dean will never be able to wear this shirt again, probably, without arousing suspicion. When Castiel helps Dean turn around against the car he’s pristine as usual, trench coat buttoned back up for decency. His gaze is soft around the edges though, as he regards Dean with those deep, dark blues, and then he finally speaks.

“How’s that for a tune up?”

Dean splutters out a laugh, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his middle, his body sagging as he loses his strength. “Jesus- Cas-!”

Castiel lets a smile sneak through his expression, and then he pulls Dean away from the car with a firm, but gentle hand. He reaches past Dean and touches the car with his palm and Baby jumps back to life, idling at her perfect purr, and Dean wipes a few tears from his eyes as he shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dean finally says.

Castiel’s head tilts and he’s quiet for a moment, before he leans in and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to Dean’s chapped lips. “You did well, Dean.”

Dean’s chest puffs up a little at the praise and he feels like he’s glowing from the inside out. This has changed the dynamic between them, at least privately, and Dean is proud that he did good by Castiel. Fuck it, if this happened on the side of a road on a blistering summer day in the middle of nowhere. Dean kinda enjoys the novelty of it, kinda likes that even though it was random as hell, it’s… exactly what he wanted, from his first time with Castiel.

Woops, chick flick moment.

“Next time you fuck up my car I’m gonna bend _you_ over,” Dean promises Castiel with a vague hand gesture, still pretty tuckered out even as he walks to the front of his car to drop the hood.

“I look forward to it,” Castiel replies. A whoosh, and then he’s gone.

Dean claps his hands together and walks to the driver side door, wrenching it open, always enjoying the resounding _crrrrrreak_. He’ll never WD-40 it. It’s the most calming sound in the world, to him. Sitting behind the wheel he puts Baby in gear and pulls onto the road, rumbling at the speed limit, a small smirk on his lips.

“What movie will you watch next?” he asks aloud, even though Castiel isn’t around to hear it.

That’s kind of the point, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> i shitpost a lot on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) but it's usually a good time  
> comments and kudos mean a ton to me


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